


50 Years Later

by AnneMcSommers



Series: Queliot Week 2020 [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Queliot Week, not beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29231460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneMcSommers/pseuds/AnneMcSommers
Summary: Day 2: We're Married50 years later it never happened, and Quentin is left reeling from Eliot's reaction to his proposal in the throne room
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Queliot Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024123
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	50 Years Later

**Author's Note:**

> Again, know I am SUPER late, not as late as I am going to be for Day 1, that I will be posting tomorrow. Remember when you see the errors that I actually did edit this myself. Which is why it took so long, even if it doesn't look like it.
> 
> Update: When editing the story which was a 500 word peice I was inspired to expand upon it and at 1500 words and counting. Might be a while after all...

Quentin was still reeling “that’s not us, not when we have a choice” was reverberating in his head. He didn’t know what he said next, and he hoped it wasn’t anything too stupid. 

A few minutes later Margo walked in breaking the awkward silence that had formed, Quentin said something else he couldn’t recall and bolted for the door. He started at a quick walk, but broke into a run when he felt the tears begin to well up in his eyes.

He managed to get into his room, and get the door closed and locked before collapsing against it, struggling to breath as he heaved with sobs. They had been happy, he had been happy, the happiest he had ever been in his entire life. Sure there were ups and downs, Arielle, god, Arielle. In the end though, it was a beautiful life, and the idea that he was the only one who thought that…It was heartbreaking.

That was what this was, heartbreak. Quentin had thought he had known what it felt like, he had been dumped before, and after Alice had… Well he thought he knew what it felt like to have his heart broken, but he didn’t. It was deeper, hurt more, and he felt guilty for feeling that he must have loved Eliot more than he had Alice for it to feel this bad. Maybe it was the length, though he didn't feel this bad when he lost Eliot to old age, so that couldn’t be it, could it?

It felt harsher, more jagged, sharper than those loses. Maybe because this was a choice, Eliot's choice. Not that Eliot would choose him, and Q felt a pang at the thought. That was it, it wasn’t the loss of Eliot, it was the loss of the idea of Eliot. The idea that Eliot had known him, truly known him, for 50 years, and still loved him, for him. 

And now, to find out that he hadn’t, not really. That Eliot had probably never really loved Quentin the way Quentin had loved Eliot. That he had just been convenient, a lack of other options. That’s what was hurting, finding out that the love of your life thought of you like a friend with benefits and you were too blind to see it. There had been signs, when Eliot encouraged him to see Arielle, when he thought Quentin should start looking again. God, it had taken 30 years to talk Eliot into marrying him, surely that should have been a sign. 

Maybe he just didn't want to see it, just once in his life he wanted to believe that someone loved him the way he loved them. They never had before. Not the few people he had dated in college, god, James not only broke up with him, but ended up dating his fucking long-time crush and best friend Julia. 

Julia, who wouldn't give him a shot, and though he accepted that she didn't owe him romance, it hurt that she always seemed to replace him with the newest shiniest person. He was always a second choice for her, and a part of him wondered if she had felt like Eliot did, if he was her best friend only because she didn’t really have any other choices.

He was cold, the fire in his room left unlit. If there had been magic he could have had a roaring blaze in minutes, but as it was he wasn’t able to pull himself up off the floor beside the door to go and make a fire. It wasn’t that cold, he would be okay here, for a while at least. 

Quentin wasn’t sure how long he had been laying there crying when he heard the knock on the door. He wasn’t even really crying anymore, just laying there, staring at the empty hearth which felt like it was mocking him. A visual representation of how he felt. There was another knock. Then another. There was a muffled voice on the other side of the door, but Quentin didn’t focus on it enough to figure out what it was saying. There was another knock, the voice was louder now. 

The voice stopped. It was silent for a while, and then it was back. The knocking turned into a pounding, and then he could hear other noises like someone tapping on a pipe. He felt a draft of warm air pass over him as the door pressed against his back. 

The voice was speaking again, but he couldn’t understand it over the pounding in his head, something passed in front of him, and he blinked to clear his blurry vision, his eyelids feeling like they were made of sandpaper. He opened his eyes, and his vision blurred as they brimmed with tears again. He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the other person in the room. He heard the voice yell something, and a warm hand brushed against his face. It was small, and the delicate fingernails scratches small circles in his hair, a voice murmuring something beside him in soft tones. It wasn’t Eliot.

And then, it was, he was there. When Quentin heard his voice it was like a fresh sword of pain stabbed through his heart and he twisted slightly to hide his face from view as the tears started to fall. The voice continued to speak, turning sharper, as it traded off with Eliot. And then he was there, on, the floor, beside him. Eliot’s warm hand running its self down Quentin’s bicep, and he shuddered at the contact leaning away from it, even though he desperately wanted more.

He tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry. He swallowed a few times, and was able to wet it enough to get the words out, please go. But that wasn’t what came out of his mouth. “We’re married.”

“Q,” Eliot started, but Quentin continued.

“Did you even want to?”

“What, of course I did, why would you think,” Quentin cut him off again.

“But you wouldn’t have, not if you had a choice.” His voice cracked on the word choice.

“Q, I told you I love you,”

“But not the way I love you. And that, I.” Quentin swallowed again. “I am going to have to live with that. But El, I, I love you, loved you, for a lifetime, and you, just, you broke my heart, you broke it, and I, I,” 

Elliot reached out and Quentin flinched away. “I can’t have you here. I lost you, you died and then you’re here, but you aren’t, and you don’t. I lost you all over again, and I, you can’t be here El. Looking at you, it hurts too much. I can’t make you love me, but if you can’t love me, you don’t want to, I need you to go, please.”

“Q,”  
“Pl, please,” And Quentin rolled away from Eliot and curled in on himself in the middle of the floor and started sobbing again. He never knew he could hurt this much, god he couldn't breathe. And then a pair of warm arms wrapped around him, he struggled away but they tightened in response.

“Shhh, Q, shhh,” 

“El, no, I”

“I love you.” Eliot whispered in his ear, and Quentin struggled more.

“But not enough,” He was cut off by Eliot.

“I love you, more than anything. I am so sorry Q. I fucked up.” Quentin froze and Eliot pressed ahead.

“I love you so much, and I fucked up, you know me, you know how fucked up I am Q. I just, I wanted to give you an out, I choose you, I will always choose you, but why the hell would you choose me. There are so many other people out there, so many options, and I want the best for you Q, and I know that’s not me. I’m not good enough for you, and I didn’t want to wait for you to realize that and go, so I pushed you away, and I thought. I thought if you had a choice,” Eliot broke off, and Quentin could feel the tears running down the back of his neck. Oh Eliot, stupid, Eliot. 

Quentin pulled away sitting up, flinching at the broken noise Eliot made when he did so, and then turned to look at him. Perfect put together Eliot looked like Quentin felt.

“Q, I” Eliot said, sitting up to look him in the eye, and before he could say anything else he had a lap full of Quentin, who burrowed his face into the crook of Eliot's neck, breathing in deeply. He wrapped his arms around Eliot, “Don’t you ever do that to me again.

Eliot, who had frozen under the initial assault, squeezed back even more tightly, and pressed his face into Quentin’s hair. “Never.” Eliot promised. 

They were still sitting there like that 20 minutes later when Margo returned. “What the fuck is wrong with you two, we have a quest to complete and here you are crying it out like a god damn rom-com. Pussy up, and get a move on.” 

They pulled apart and smiled at one another, they could do this. They would complete the quest, together.


End file.
